I.
She ran her fingertips over the fraying red threads and pressed her face against the soft fabric. It suffocated her; the familiar scent of stale marijuana, rubbing alcohol, and powdered nitrile gloves.
It was a poison - one whose only antidote was the poison itself. Like cigarettes, but faster and slower at the same time; no smoke, no fire. She quit years ago.
Cold turkey; abruptly.